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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028688">Proditione. Onero. Lux. Obduro</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma3000/pseuds/Enigma3000'>Enigma3000</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamingstoryteller/pseuds/mehan%20kartik'>mehan kartik (daydreamingstoryteller)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Parents, Angst, Boys In Love, Grief/Mourning, Gunshots, Hurt No Comfort, It Gets Better, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Or Does It, So much angst, Violence, ahaha, bad joke sorry, but its so much worse, god bless, if it does, jk jk, just this once mehan isnt all to blame, kartik singh defense squad, kartik singh needs a hug, spy AU, tags will be added as story progresses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:15:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma3000/pseuds/Enigma3000, https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamingstoryteller/pseuds/mehan%20kartik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Betrayals<br/>Burdens<br/>Light<br/>Persists</p><p>Kartik Singh: A son. A husband. A friend...</p><p>A spy.<br/> <br/>A killer. </p><p>A liar. </p><p>It's almost been a decade, since he started leading a double life. Ten years of lying, of facades that never came off, and balancing the life he yearned to live with the life he was forced to.</p><p>Aman Tripathi: Kartik's devoted husband. His parents' darling Guddu. A man with a strong moral code, and an even stronger love for Kartik.</p><p>It's a fascinating thing, building your reality around an illusion. A dangerous thing, perhaps. Aman's sense of being hinges on a life that doesn't exist, around a man who doesn't exist. And even so, the years he's spent with Kartik have been some of his best. </p><p>Funny how, in the face of betrayal,  the choice between profound love and a burden that would be a relief to shed becomes so, so much harder.</p><p>Light shall persist, though. It has to.</p><p>It always does. </p><p>  <i>Doesn't it?</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, welcome to Sam and Mehan's smzs centric spy novel. We've been working on this for about five months now. Only time will tell how many more (right now looks like it'll be 40 chapters at least)</p><p>:)</p><p>We'll try our absolute BEST to update regularly, but we're talking about the writers of Raakh and Five Stages, here. So please forgive the irregular updates in advance.</p><p>Oh, and the angst too.</p><p>We're sorry. Honestly.</p><p>(lol)</p><p>love,<br/>~team polo</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a rainy night, he remembers. Much like this one.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik Singh was only eleven years old, when he’d woken up from a nightmare. Nothing significant, nothing unusual- like all kids his age, though, it had scared him enough to send him running to his mother as quickly as his young legs would allow.</p><p> </p><p>He found himself at his parents’ door, struggling with indecision. He wanted to go in. He wanted to be comforted by his mother’s embrace, by her words, anything. The man laying next to her is what stopped him.</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir Singh was not a bad father, as much as he was a little neglectful, perhaps. Quick to anger sometimes. With an equally sharp tongue to boot. He was always telling Kartik that he was too weak, too cowardly, too- anything that no child can stomach.</p><p> </p><p>Mom had always said that he said those things out of care, and concern. That the world was too harsh a place for a kind boy like him. But that still didn’t make Kartik any less wary of his father.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to go back.</p><p> </p><p>But his room was dark. So dark. So lonely... he-</p><p> </p><p>“Kartik?” a soft, sweet voice called out, interrupting his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>The door swung open, revealing his mother (his guardian angel), just standing there, looking at him with so much love; so much concern. </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes looked tired and her clothes were rumpled. Yet, the smile on her face, as it was illuminated by the moonlight wafting in through the windows, made her look like a goddess to Kartik. </p><p> </p><p>He felt tears prick his eyes. Kartik looked behind her, to see if the sleeping figure in the bed had moved.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry,” she smiled, reading his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s asleep.”</p><p> </p><p>Kartik looked up at her, uncertain nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>The smile slipped from her face. They both knew he wasn’t going to talk here. </p><p> </p><p>“Shall we go outside?” </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t need telling twice. Kartik was gently holding her hand in his much smaller one and leading the way to the little bench that sat in their yard. It was his favourite place to be; his favourite place to let the world pass him by. The wind on his face always calmed him down. This time was no different.</p><p> </p><p>As they sat there under the moonlight, all Kartik could do was think of how to begin.</p><p> </p><p>How do you tell someone that you dreamed of their death?</p><p> </p><p>How do you tell your own mother that you saw her die, right in front of you, far too vivid for any eleven year old to process.</p><p> </p><p>He opened his mouth, then closed it again.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik heard a sigh beside him. He didn’t like it when people sighed at him- he always felt so stupid. But his mother was different. She never sighed at him, not really. For him, maybe. For whatever he was going through. But not at him. Nobody was allowed to make her son feel small.</p><p> </p><p>“Talk to me, Kartik,” she whispered as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m always here for you, na?”</p><p> </p><p>Kartik’s memory of that night ends there. </p><p> </p><p>He tries to remember what had happened but every thought always led him back to another memory instead. The one that he can never forget no matter how hard he tries to. </p><p> </p><p>It’s as if the years of trauma had these two nights muddled together - where the peaceful moments were overshadowed by the pain that came after.</p><p> </p><p>~~~~</p><p> </p><p>“Ma?” Kartik shook the arms that he once sought comfort in. The arms that had always made him feel safe. </p><p> </p><p>They were so cold. So lifeless.</p><p> </p><p>“Ma, wake up. Please.” He whined, pleading at her. </p><p> </p><p>He’d never had to plead for her to wake up before. Somehow she’d always known when Kartik needed her and was always awake for him before he could even ask. </p><p> </p><p>Kartik was crying now, he knew he was. The water running down his face wasn’t just the rain.</p><p> </p><p>“PLEASE, THE AMBULANCE WILL BE HERE, JUST STAY AWAKE-”</p><p> </p><p>He knew it was pointless. </p><p> </p><p>He knew she was gone, the red rapidly pooling around his knees where he had collapsed to the ground next to her told him as much. A gunshot wound to the head- you don’t stick around for long after that. Anyone knows that. </p><p> </p><p>But he was long past the point of rationality, now. All Kartik could do was shake her blindly, screaming over and over for her to wake up.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes were open. </p><p> </p><p>He pretended they weren’t.</p><p> </p><p>“Ma…” Kartik let out a sob.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Please.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>They had come because of <em> him </em>. They came for the two of them because of the man that Kartik thought he knew. His father. </p><p> </p><p>But - she didn’t die because of his father. She died because of Kartik. </p><p> </p><p>She was dead because she had been protecting him. </p><p> </p><p><em> “I’m always here for you, na?” </em> her voice whispered. But it was only in his mind. </p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t there for him anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik watched the one person who really loved him die. Because. Of. Him. A simple shot to the head. Nothing painful. They did get her in the shoulder at one point though, so she would tell them where Kartik was hiding.</p><p> </p><p>She didn't tell them.</p><p> </p><p>She should have. God, she <em> should have </em>. </p><p> </p><p>But she’d kept to her promise. She protected him. Even when it had cost her everything. </p><p> </p><p>Even when it had cost Kartik everything. </p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know how long he had stayed there. At the very same yard that he’d sat with his mother many times before. </p><p> </p><p>He stayed until his voice had gone hoarse from the screams. Stayed until rain had started to pour down and drench him and his mother. </p><p> </p><p>Stayed until it had washed all of his hope away together with the blood on his hands. </p><p> </p><p>The only thing he remembers after that was the cold. The cold of the rain. The coldness of his mother’s hands. And the cold that settled around his heart. The warmth that the memories of his mother once gave him was replaced by an unsettling chill, like he could feel the emptiness of the void she had left behind. Feel its cold, unforgiving presence in his chest, his mind, his heart- everywhere.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>But somehow, the worst part was that he never knew the truth of why that day had happened until after. </p><p> </p><p>He had been confused and terrified when they had come for them. He only had time to run and hide before everything fell apart. Rapidly. </p><p> </p><p>He never even knew who the masked men were, or why they were there until hours later. He didn’t even let himself think about it, still far too deep in shock to do so. Even when his father had placed a hand on his shoulder, dragged him away despite the fight he had put up. All he could think about was leaving her there. Alone in the rain. All he could do was loathe himself, even when the blood in his hands were gone and he sat all alone on the floor of what once used to be home. </p><p> </p><p>His father had sat him down, and explained. Kartik doesn't remember the words said but he can never forget the betrayal he felt. That he still feels at the reminder of what his parents had done. </p><p> </p><p>His dad was a spy. A murderer. </p><p> </p><p>He had been going around in secret, fighting people, killing them without remorse and all for what? </p><p> </p><p>Kartik found himself wondering if she knew. If she knew he would end up hurting her someday, and still stayed with him anyway.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He didn’t know which answer was worse.</p><p> </p><p>As if on cue, as if the bastard could read Kartik’s mind, Jagvir Singh gave Kartik the last thing he wanted- the truth.</p><p> </p><p>“Your mother… she- she knew too.”</p><p> </p><p>He felt <em> sick. </em></p><p> </p><p>Kartik was the only one who didn't know the truth and it felt like someone had dropped him down a well. He didn’t know how to process the information. </p><p> </p><p>His parents, the ones that he was so grateful to have and loved, had lied to him since the beginning. </p><p> </p><p>Had everything been a lie then? </p><p> </p><p>The thought broke something in Kartik. He had kept quiet until then, Partly from shock and partly from despair. </p><p> </p><p>But the thought that he’d been living a lie and that his own father had put all of them at risk because of his job ... it crippled him. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?” he asked, barely a whisper at first. </p><p> </p><p>When no answer came, he asked again, louder. His voice shook with pain and anger. Both bubbling inside him in equal measure. </p><p> </p><p>The pain… didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was a touch away from doubling over. But the anger- that was tricky.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik didn’t know he was angry at. He didn’t know who he ought to be angry at. </p><p> </p><p>Right now, his heart was telling him to direct his rage at his father (he didn’t fucking want to call him that anymore), whoever those men were, or even himself.</p><p> </p><p>His father was the easiest. Perhaps, even the most deserving. In his mind, at least.</p><p> </p><p>So Kartik let loose.</p><p> </p><p>Not all at once, no. His mind was far too much a mess for clarity of emotion. It started slow. The calm before the storm. The calm his father mistook for forgiveness.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>That was an easy question. That was a question Jagvir had asked himself a million times before, every single time he had come close to quitting-<em> perhaps he should have gone through with it- </em>he knew what to say.</p><p> </p><p>“To protect people, Kartik.”</p><p> </p><p>Kartik smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“What people, dad? You couldn’t protect the ones who mattered, could you?”</p><p> </p><p>He could feel his voice rising. He didn’t care. The man who had taught him to keep his voice steady, to keep his emotion hidden, was on the receiving end of all his anger now.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you even good at this job? You don’t seem like it.” He bit out, uncaring if it was harsh. He didn’t really care about much now anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“Karti-” he started, but Kartik wasn’t willing to listen to reason anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you even stop to think? About us? About the danger you’re putting us in?”</p><p> </p><p>“WHY DID YOU EVEN DO THIS JOB?” He yells, voice strained yet firm. </p><p> </p><p>Jagvir stayed silent. He had Kartik’s answers ready, of course he did, but he knew better than to say them out loud. To essentially sever the link they had as father and son.</p><p> </p><p>If it wasn’t severed already.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik was stubborn. A trait he got from his father.</p><p> </p><p>“ANSWER ME, GODDAMNIT. ARE YOU GOING TO QUIT? ARE YOU GOING TO STOP THIS- THIS MADNESS AT LEAST NOW? YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING WIFE.”</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir took a deep breath. This was his son. His boy, who just lost his mother. He couldn’t lose his cool at Kartik now. It wasn’t fair.</p><p> </p><p>“Where the fuck were you when we needed you, papa? What was so important?” he was crying now, he knew he was. He really was on a personal mission to break every rule his father had set for him, it would seem.</p><p> </p><p>It was the word “papa” that made Jagvir pause. It tore up at his heart, though he didn’t show it. Kartik rarely if ever called him that. He only did it when he was scared. That word, coming out of Kartik’s anguish-filled voice made him falter. </p><p> </p><p>He had been trying so hard to keep his emotions in check, so that he can be here for his son but that word and the question that Kartik asked next, broke all of Jagvir’s resolve.</p><p> </p><p>“Or did you just not care?”</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir clenched his fist. He didn’t want to admit that there was truth to Kartik’s words. He didn’t even want to consider it. He had been doing his duty. He had been saving people’s lives.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik chuckled at the stony silence.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you even love her?”</p><p> </p><p>That was it.</p><p> </p><p>“OF FUCKING COURSE I LOVED HER,” loved, god, the past tense didn’t sit right in his mouth, “I WASN’T OFF PARTYING, KARTIK. I WAS ON A MISSION. I WAS SAVING PEOPLE’S LIVES.”</p><p> </p><p>He was beginning to sound like a broken record, at this point, but he didn’t care. He would repeat it however many goddamn times it took to get it through Kartik’s head that he wasn’t at fault. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t. He couldn’t have been. He couldn’t have killed the love of his life.</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir ignored the voice insisting that he had.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik laughed. Bitter, painful, not his laugh at all. It was alien. Something that came from a broken man. Not his ever-smiling son. </p><p> </p><p>“Waah, papa, waah. You deserve applause, thank you for saving the lives of people WHO DON’T EVEN FUCKING KNOW YOU, while your wife lay bleeding to death in your son’s arms.”</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir looked away. He couldn’t bring himself to face the rage in Kartik’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“At least tell me you did it. Tell me you saved their lives. That this wasn’t all for nothing.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” He answered in a firm voice. </p><p> </p><p>Silence descended on the father and son. It seemed that both had run out of words.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik sat down hard on the chair at their dining table, not bothering to even spare a glance at the cup he knocked off. He put his face in his hands, shaking with silent tears as his father cautiously approached him.</p><p> </p><p>It hurt to see his son like this.</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir stepped closer, tried to lay a comforting hand on Kartik’s shoulder, when his head snapped up, rage burning anew. Eyes still red and wet. </p><p> </p><p>“But what did it cost papa?” He bit out as if it was the hardest thing he had ever uttered. </p><p> </p><p>They both knew the cost. They were paying the price right now. Yet neither wanted to acknowledge it.</p><p> </p><p>“Was it worth it? Was all of it worth this?”</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir took a moment before answering. Just a moment, a mere second to decide between saying what was true and what was easy.</p><p> </p><p>Even that one moment was too long.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik wanted to rip his hair out. </p><p> </p><p>This shouldn’t be a choice. It shouldn’t require hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>All he was asking was to choose. Either this pathetic fucking job that cost this man’s wife her life, or his family.</p><p> </p><p>But it wasn’t that simple and Kartik was much too young, much too hurt to see that.</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir shook his head no. </p><p> </p><p>Kartik relaxed, for a mere second, safe in the knowledge that his father wasn’t as depraved, as emotionally and morally vacant as Kartik had presumed him to be. That was, of course, until he opened his mouth again and ripped Kartik’s world apart all at once.</p><p> </p><p>“No. No, I can't lie to you, Kartik. I’m sorry. Losing her was not worth a fucking thing, god no. It never will be. But I’ve done more good to this world because of this job than I could care to recollect. I’ve saved more people than you’ll ever know. I don’t regret what I did.”</p><p> </p><p>He walked away, after that. Got in the car he spent more time in than at home (Kartik knew why now), and fucking left his own son there to deal with his life as he knew it unravelling in front of his eyes. <em> He has to report this to the higher-ups, </em> he said. <em> Has to do his job, </em> he said.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik had to laugh. Maybe he didn’t even consider fatherhood a responsibility.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe the worst part was that neither of them even tried to stop it from happening. </p><p> </p><p>Something changed in the Singh household that night. It wasn’t just the death of the one person that held that family together. It was more than that. </p><p> </p><p>The distance that had already existed between parent and child widened irreparably. The one thing that kept them together was gone, and it was as if she had taken away all the love that existed in that home with her. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t home to anyone now. It was just a house. Barely even that, some days, considering how little time Kartik spent there. He couldn’t. It was too suffocating, too much for him to bear- all those memories of her voice calling his name, of her handing him tea after a bad day, just <em> her. </em></p><p> </p><p>Even with both in the house, it wasn’t anywhere near what it used to be. It was a house that was big enough for two people that they could avoid each other all day while staying there together. The kitchen stayed quiet in the days to come. </p><p> </p><p>No songs were heard playing in the living room and no bangles or anklets ringing along to the beats. No colourful sarees hanging out to dry in the yard. </p><p> </p><p>There was no more music and no more colour in anything. Everything was silent and bleak. </p><p> </p><p>And even though it was summer, the house held no warmth in any nook or corner. Just the chill of an abandoned home. Only filled with memories of rainy nights and blood stained tiles...</p><p> </p><p>....it was just empty. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~~~~~</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Kartik lost not one, but two parents that night. That’s what it felt like to him, at least. His father rarely ever came home, and when he did, all he graced Kartik with, was an agonised glance. As if staring at him, looking into his eyes for too long, reminded Jagvir of Kartik’s mother.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik often caught him, from time to time, staring like he intended to say something. Anything, anything that would mend the irreparable break in their bond. A bond that had never really existed, as far as his son was concerned. </p><p> </p><p>All Kartik felt now while reminiscing over memories with his parents was betrayal. And a numbing, profound sense of loss.</p><p> </p><p>Dinners that once passed in love and laughter and lively conversation now passed in stony silence, one of the four seats at their table far too empty. He found himself setting the table for three, sometimes, before realising his oversight. And being overwhelmed by her loss all over again.</p><p> </p><p>All that was if his father bothered to come home in the first place. Kartik ate alone more times than he cared to count. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn't help but blame himself, sometimes.For the way their family had fractured. </p><p> </p><p>The thought plagued him constantly, but mostly in his dreams.  His young mind took the fractured pieces of his soul and twisted it into a horrible recurring nightmare. Sometimes he’d watch her get shot over and over again. Some other nights, it would be him watching his father shoot her himself.  </p><p> </p><p>Those nights, he woke up screaming her name into the darkness. Those nights, she didn’t rush to him like she once used to.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever way it happened though, it usually ended up with her dead. Right in front of him. But unlike other people’s nightmares, his never ended even when he woke up. </p><p> </p><p>But the worst ones, weren’t the ones that ended with images of blood and sounds of gunshots and screams. No, the worst ones were always the dreams of the good days. </p><p> </p><p>The dreams of waking up to his mother’s embrace, a warm hug and a calm night spent in their yard with the sounds of rain and his mother’s heartbeat lulling him to sleep. Those were the ones that broke him. </p><p> </p><p>Because every time he woke up, it was like he lost her all over again. </p><p> </p><p>Kartik felt helpless.</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir, even more so.</p><p> </p><p>And helplessness often turns even the best of men into shadows of who they once were. Even the great Jagvir Singh couldn’t escape its pitfalls. </p><p> </p><p>Soon the days of quiet distancing bled into days of awkward and stilted interactions between father and son. </p><p> </p><p>Kartik began opening the door at 3:00 am to the stench of alcohol. To a gaunt figure where the man he respected once stood. A pitiful reminder of how much they had come to lose over the past few months. Kartik prayed night and day that this too would pass.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>If anything, it went further downhill, as if the universe were mocking Kartik’s naive hope.</p><p> </p><p>The beatings didn’t start right away. They started out with verbal taunts, then a bottle thrown into the wall. A shattered plate. Screaming. And it always, always ended with Kartik sinking down against his bedroom door. Hoping for this to end, hoping his father wold fucking stop already. Stop the yelling, the slurred accusations that Kartik hated him, (he did, god, he did, but Kartik knew better than to admit it). Kartik dug his fingers into his palm, clenched his teeth, and wished once more for it to stop. With all his heart.</p><p> </p><p>And once more, It didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Once more, it got worse.</p><p> </p><p>Kartik hadn’t expected to be shoved into a wall, and yet there he was, with tears in his eyes and fear in his chest over his own father pushing him into a wall. Not hard, no. His father wasn’t there <em> (yet, </em>his brain reminded him helpfully). It wasn’t what he did that hurt Kartik the most, as much as it was the mere fact that he had done it.</p><p> </p><p>There had been worse, with time. But this had by far struck him the most.</p><p> </p><p>“Weak, you’re fucking weak,” he could still hear the slight tremble in Jagvir’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Failed as an agent, failed as a father, I should’ve- you should have grown up stronger- fuck-”</p><p>Kartik didn’t know if he was talking to himself or to Kartik. </p><p> </p><p>The young terrified boy felt tears prick his eyes. Still attached to the wall, as though if he moved, he would be pushed into again. Perhaps harder, this time.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t do anything right, I’m fucking useless.”</p><p> </p><p>Jagvir laughed, the sound more bitter than amused. Kartik blinked in confusion. </p><p> </p><p>“I won’t let you fail.”</p><p> </p><p>He grabbed Kartik’s cheek, ran his thumb over the side of Kartik’s face. It wasn’t comforting. Far from it. If anything, Kartik felt like a prized possession, a trophy being polished for his father’s ever-critical eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“You can’t. You’re going to be better than me. You have to.”</p><p> </p><p>Kartik wondered what had brought this on. Painful and odd as it was, it was still the most affection his father had shown him in months. </p><p> </p><p>His answer, as Kartik never found out, was far less pleasant than he had expected: Jagvir had come back from a failed mission. His first failure since all those months ago.</p><p> </p><p>He never liked to admit it, but he’d been getting sloppy. Ever since that night that robbed him of his wife and son, he’d lost focus. The questions that his son had screaming at him wouldn’t leave his mind. </p><p> </p><p>They took root in his heart. </p><p> </p><p>Was it worth it? Was his job and the people he saved really worth the broken shards of the family he was left with?</p><p> </p><p>Try as he might, he could never get those questions to leave him alone. Everytime he took a mission, everytime he looked at the new targets he was supposed to keep safe, Kartik’s tear streaked face would mock him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You couldn’t protect the ones who mattered, could you?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He tried to ignore it. It worked for about all of two missions. The more that he went on, however, the more he couldn’t help but hate himself. </p><p> </p><p>He was consumed by grief that he had thrown himself into his work. But the work was like poison. It consumed him and slowly chipped away at his self-assurance. </p><p> </p><p>He started second guessing himself. He started detesting himself. With every family he saved, he kept being reminded of the one family that he’d failed. His own. </p><p> </p><p>It was a vicious cycle. The pain led him to his work, but the work fed his dread. The only way out that he knew was the bottle. </p><p> </p><p>So he drank and he killed. He went on missions and did them as well as he could. But never at the standard he had once been. It was still okay. He hadn’t failed any mission yet... until. Until that one day. </p><p> </p><p>The first time he’d failed a mission. Completely failed it. He’s frozen on the job and even though it was barely a few minutes, that was all it took. </p><p> </p><p>The people he was supposed to protect were dead. He’d failed. </p><p> </p><p>That wasn’t the worst part. </p><p> </p><p>The worst part was that they’d been the very same family he’d protected that day. The ones he’d saved. When he should have been at home saving his family instead. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Where the fuck were you when we needed you, papa? What was so important?”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “At least tell me you did it. Tell me you saved their lives. That this wasn’t all for nothing.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He had saved them then. </p><p> </p><p>But he’d failed them today. </p><p> </p><p>Now he had the death of two families on his conscience. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t- no. He <em> wouldn’t </em>let Kartik be like him. Kartik would be better.</p><p> </p><p>He had to be. </p><p> </p><p>And that was how it had all began.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. DELTA</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>"No one had managed to sneak up on him since. </i>
  <br/>
  <i>Until her. "</i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>we updated on time :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was still dark outside, when he woke up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or, no, that wasn’t right. “Woke up” implied Kartik had been able to get some semblance of sleep over the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik hadn’t been able to sleep at all, simply shifting uncomfortably in bed time and time again, praying for the relief of sleep to deliver him from the roaring in his head. And that was all he had done, face buried in his pillow, until he had grown tired of that too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up all of a sudden.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was only so much writhing one could take.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik ran a shaky hand through his damp hair (It wasn’t even that hot- how much had he been tossing about?), and turned his sleep-heavy gaze to the clock on his bedside table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The red light flashing from the clock (doubled as a nightlight- embarrassed as he was about it, Kartik could no longer stomach complete darkness), lit up the otherwise dark room, casting a small red shadow into all corners. It looked like a scene from a horror movie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>4:00 am.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t seem like he would be falling asleep anytime soon. (It was fine of course. He’d gotten used to staying up anyway. His nightmares ensured that.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And besides, there was no point. He had but two hours before he had to be up, before he had to swallow every goddamn feeling that demanded to be felt and face whatever hell lay ahead of him today. The very thought put a knot in his stomach, forced tears into his bloodshot eyes and a weight against his lungs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to leave. Never come back. Run away from everything that tethered him down in this miserable existence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t really have anywhere else to go. His father had done a rather splendid job of reminding him of that again and fucking again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(“I’m all you have. You’re all I have. Don’t make this difficult, Kartik.”)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tired, rueful, hiding an ocean of pain behind it. Nowhere near the breezy grin it used to be, a mere year ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before it all fell apart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had anticipated this, of course he had. Somewhere in the corners of his consciousness he’d known that he would eventually be forced to follow in his father’s bloodstained footsteps. He knew this day had been coming. Ever since his father had told Kartik that he would be “Better than him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night he had heard those words still haunted him. The rage, the helplessness, the sickening smell of alcohol on his quick, laboured breath- You don’t forget that. You can’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d spent weeks trying to erase the memory of his father’s hands on him, pinning him to the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Helpless. Weak. Useless.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His day of reckoning had arrived, in the end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was to be his first day, in a few hours. Not as a spy, no, he was still much too young for that. The rules had been clear, as much as his father had protested against them. 16 </span>
  <em>
    <span>(or practically 18, as his father called it)</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn’t even old enough to begin training, let alone receive a license. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. Today was to be his first day as his father’s experiment; a distorted means for the man to, in his mind, fix his own mistakes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik grit his teeth. His fingers scrunched up the sheets beneath his hands tightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to take after the one man he loathed the most, didn’t want to turn into what he had come to fear more than anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But when was the last time he could dictate his own life?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When was the last time he woke up feeling like he was in control of anything at all?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had he ever been in control in the first place? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushed his blanket off, didn’t spare it a second glance as he stepped slowly and quietly to his window. The late night air always calmed him down. Always made him feel at peace with any war within, reminded him that there was and always would be more to life than anything at all he was facing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It did nothing, this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The still air simply traced the tears making their way down his face, leaving an unsettling chill on his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik chuckled at his own predicament, the sound more frustrated than amused. It was funny, it really was, how the room he once considered his safe space could feel so alien under different circumstances. How the breeze from his window that lulled him to sleep most nights simply burned his eyes like acid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A place so familiar, so intertwined with his every waking moment shouldn’t feel like a prison. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing there, within the walls he grew up in, Kartik had only one thought in mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to go home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~~~~</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik didn’t want to be here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even after all the months of training, all the days leading up to this moment, he didn’t want it. He never wanted an entry to this funhouse of horrors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was the very thing that he’d hated his father for doing. This moral stain of a “job” had taken his mother away from him, taken every last piece of his childhood while all he could do was watch feebly. He recoiled at the idea of becoming the very thing he'd hated for so long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it was either this or more nights of drunken screams, of bottles thrown against faded walls and angry bruises on Kartik’s back. This seemed kinder somehow. At least this way, he’d be far away from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The choice had come down to two things, in the end: his safety, or his morality. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One at the cost of the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sacrificing his freedom had meant nothing to him. At the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet, Kartik knew even then, in the hidden parts of his heart that he’d learned to hide away, that this wasn’t the life he had wanted for himself. Even after three years in this place, training to be what they wanted him to be, he couldn’t ever convince himself that this is where he belonged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried to push that painful truth out of his mind, and focus on something else but it was hard to do when everywhere he looked, he saw them. The others. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of his “colleagues”. As if this was just any other job, and not actually just state-permitted homicide under the guise of something noble. They were all there, wearing the same uniform he was wearing. Stern faces that never betrayed even an inkling of emotion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robotic. Distant. As though they’d sacrificed their individuality for the greater good, donned the grotesque uniform and lost themselves to something bigger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had wondered about that, on his first day. Wondered why they looked so... lifeless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took but a few months before he learned the answer the hard way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All those emotions were forcefully beaten out of them during training anyway, there was only so much one’s body could take before giving up and accepting the near constant pain as the norm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The trainers assured them that it would get better, that once they were used to it, the pain would go away. Kartik doubted that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until he realised, one day, after taking a rubber bullet to his kneecap that he couldn’t cry, anymore. Even if he wanted to. He had lost the ability to, somehow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The three years went by in a blur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not because they were fast, god, no. they were the most agonisingly slow years of his entire damn life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were a blur, because Kartik had made it so. Buried every fucking second of that hellish period so deep inside him that he couldn’t bring it all back up if he tried. Every night spent in the hospital, every injury, every night his father had made it </span>
  <em>
    <span>explicitly</span>
  </em>
  <span> clear what he thought about Kartik’s shortcomings, every taunt and jeer about how he would be a failure as a spy. All buried, all forgotten. As much as it could be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he remembered was one night. The night they graduated, finally free of the torture their handlers called “training.” It was supposed to be a celebration, perhaps something even vaguely joyful, in honour of his batch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was not. Not for Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked around the room once, and sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik tried not to notice the faces too much. No point getting to know them, when they might be dead tomorrow. So no, he tried not to notice too much. Tried not to remember names, or get attached.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know why they were celebrating the end of these three years. Training was safe. They were assured of their survival. What came after was uncertainty in its purest form. Their lives were hanging on by a thread, from now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kept his head down in his iced tea, mostly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he did notice one thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were all older than him. Of course they were, which kid in his right mind would even be here, joining an agency like this. No. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was just him. His stupid luck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wished he could at least get a drink to distract him, but he wasn’t allowed to. How did that even make sense?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not too young to take a life, but too young to drink, apparently. He spent months learning infinite ways to torture and kill someone, on how to overpower them, how to strip them apart to their bare insecurities and twist it for his own gain and yet- he can’t drink one sip of alcohol. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t make sense, these people’s selective morality. But Kartik had long since stopped trying to make sense of the world around him. He didn’t need to think here. That wasn’t in his job description. He just had to act. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was all he was. A tool. A weapon for them to use however they want, to get whatever they need. He didn’t have a say in it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t even Kartik Singh anymore. He had stopped remembering who that had been. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would officially, for all intents and purposes, be a spy from next week. A practicing killer. A drone in a machine far too big for him to comprehend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik wanted to go home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not his house, no. He wanted to go home. Some place where he could separate himself from the madness his life had become. Someplace where he could maybe try to find the kid he had been again. But-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik didn’t have a place like that. Not from now on, at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His bedroom would have to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His drink lay forgotten as he stood up, getting ready to leave. The noise, the lights, the horribly misplaced joy etched into the faces around him- it made bile rise to his throat. Kartik exhaled slowly, pocketed his phone, and pushed his chair back into place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And found himself being pushed into the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“WHAT THE FU-”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t notice her immediately. That itself threw Kartik in for a loop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because no one could sneak up on him. Not anymore, anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even before he officially started training, he’d taught himself to listen closely to any incoming footsteps, to the way his father breathed, based on how he was feeling that particular night. So that he could avoid him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At 16, he already knew how to never get caught off guard. He had to learn. It  was the only way he could survive living with the monster that his father had become. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one had managed to sneak up on him since. Until her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time he’d fully registered her presence behind him, she had already pulled out his own gun from his holster and pinned him with it. Kartik felt the cold metal of the barrel press into the base of his skull, where his neck met his head. One shot, just one, and it would be over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clenched his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As much and as often as Kartik entertained the thought, he didn’t want to die just yet, thank you very much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His shoulders relaxed a little when he remembered that his gun had no bullets in it yet. None of their guns did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl felt him tense up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t the point. Point was that Kartik had let his guard down and someone had taken advantage of it. Kartik had let someone take advantage of it. Their number one rule, to never let your guard down, no matter where you are or who you’re with- and he had broken it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nicely done,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his father’s voice said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He mentally cursed himself for his mistake. It wasn’t even his proper first day, and he was already stumbling. Already making mistakes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re going to be better. You have to be better. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jagvir Singh’s voice yelled at him, echoed in his head and filled him with the dread, shame, and fear he’d become accustomed to now. Yet, Kartik didn’t show an ounce of either emotion on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you make it through training if you’re this easy to sneak up on,” a voice whispered into his ear, taking the place of the one suffocating his mind. She had one of Kartik’s arms locked behind him, elbow holding the other one down. The one move he hadn’t been able to master, all these three years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had that gun been loaded, just one bullet would have been enough to tear through his brain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gunshot wound to the head, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought to himself.</span>
  <em>
    <span> How poetic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get the fuck off me,” Kartik hissed. He really was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the mood to be playing around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ask nicely.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> get the fuck off me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughed, and it was the most frustrating sound Kartik had ever had the misfortune of hearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t mastered the move, but learning to get out of it came easily to him, almost second nature. He took a moment to regain his composure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mind was off him for a mere second, but that was enough for Kartik to catch her ankle with a sharp kick of his own. And it took a second of imbalance for Kartik to floor her, reaching blindly for the knife he kept in his other pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“WAIT, DUDE, CALM DOWN.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik stilled, hand in his pocket. His fingers relaxed minutely, but remained safely around the handle of his knife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I WAS KIDDING AROUND!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t very funny, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kartik thought bitterly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She held her hand out, half expecting him not to take it. To her surprise, Kartik did, pulling her up to her feet, ever the gentleman. She noticed, however, that he didn’t meet her eyes as he did so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Odd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiled at him, half in apology and half in amusement, but it wasn’t returned. She wasn’t even sure if he had seen it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had seen it, alright. He just wasn’t sure how to respond. This girl- whoever she was, kartik had just seen her around in training from time to time- was the first person in more years than he could count to joke around with him like this. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated it. He wasn’t sure if he hated it either, he supposed it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> funny-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was just messing with you.” She said again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik didn’t know how to reply to that. Clearly he hadn’t been in the mood to be messed with. She should have realized that. What kind of spy was she anyway?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t anyone else warn you to not mess around with a spy.” Kartik huffed, irritation dripping heavily from every word he spoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ignored her very presence and went back to nurse his drink. His non-alcoholic drink.cIt wasn’t even very good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck, he hated this day so much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had hoped she’d take the hint and leave him alone, but she didn’t. The girl dropped herself down onto a chair next to him, eyeing him curiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Kartik got up to leave. He’d had enough. Didn’t he deserve a break already?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her firm hand grabbed onto his wrist, albeit gentler this time than minutes before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” she laughed lightly, “I didn’t mean to piss you off, dude. Just wanted to get to know the only other young person here.” She explained, even though Kartik hadn’t wanted to hear it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The age comment made him pause. He finally turned to look at the girl. And it was then he fully realized that yes. She was just a girl. Younger than any other girl he’d seen around here so far. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik cataloged her appearance slowly, taking note of the tied up ponytail, the way she clearly leaned onto the table casually as if to ease his guards. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a long hard look at everything about her - except her face- and realized she was young. Probably only a year older than himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The surprise must have shown in his face, as she finally let go of his wrist and chuckled, “You’re not the only underage kid here you know?”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik was curious now. He didn’t expect her. He had thought he knew what this job would be like, what today would be like but he’d been wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d stayed silent for a few seconds longer than he should have, and the girl used it to bug him again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, at least sit down so we can get to know each other. We’re the youngest ones here. I saw you sitting all brooding and all so I figured I’d say hi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl noticed Kartik still again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should leave. He should leave and never think about her again. He doesn’t need to talk to her. He</span>
  <em>
    <span> shouldn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she was looking at him with barely concealed curiosity in her eyes, and it had been so long since he’d seen any semblance of emotion in anyone here that it made him falter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Against his better judgement, he sat down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you! So who are you-” She started but Kartik cut her off. He wanted to get this conversation done and over with rapidly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agent SC377.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can see that on your tag, idiot.” she smirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik clenched his fist, clearly annoyed. She ignored him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But who are you?” the stranger asked again, this time flinging her hands slightly and gesturing to all of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik didn’t understand the question. Who he was?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like, what’s your name? Why are you here? Something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m joining the agency, why else would I be here?” Kartik stated blankly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed, and rolled her eyes at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik’s mind was still trying to figure out what she was doing. Her casual conversation and her almost strangely friendly attitude was setting him on edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be easy to forget that she didn’t just almost kill him a few minutes ago. It would be easy to underestimate her. To forget that she’s highly skilled and competent in what they’re trained to do...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. I’ll go first,” she uttered, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Devika.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Devika…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes? What?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean-” he shook his head</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“surname?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your surname is no?” He quipped, trying to get a rise out of her. He was still pissed about her sneaking up on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She averted her eyes, for a moment, and for a second there Kartik thought he saw a peculiar emotion flash through them. He didn’t know what it was, or why it was there, but the look he saw reflected back at him wasn’t the amusement she’d been wearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Devika looked back at him, and the look was gone. Replaced by something more… distant. Empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Orphan,” was the only reply he got. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he was to do with that. Orphan didn’t really explain it, not to him, anyway. He thought of himself as an orphan. But he still gave people his surname when needed. Not that he’d needed it for years now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Devika's tone was firm, and her eyes glared at him a little. As if daring him to comment on the information she’d just provided. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik didn’t want to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was only all too happy to ignore her. To turn back his own thoughts and leave her to fade into the noise of the outside world. He didn’t need to know her. He didn’t need to care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was how it worked here, anyway. All you were was a code. Just a series of letters and numbers amongst thousands of others. Just another cog in a vast system. Nobody needed to- or wanted to- know anybody else beyond that. Kartik included </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d made himself a rule, the first day he began training. Kartik decided to keep to himself as much as possible, never staring at a face for longer than necessary. Never learning their names, only their code numbers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>De-humanizing them was the only way he could keep himself from becoming one of them. From losing his sense of self to their cruel system.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the carefully constructed apathy- It had come at a cost, of course. It had left Kartik alone, made it so that all he had was himself. No friends, no family. Just him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps that was why he broke his rule, and told her his own name. She hadn’t asked. And yet, it was out of him before he could bring himself to hesitate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That, and the fact that Kartik found himself being oddly drawn to this girl. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, not out of pity or condescension- being the youngest there came with its challenges. Maybe it was the fact that she was breaking every rule Kartik had tried to follow. She’d snuck up on him like a silent shadow. She’d taunted him, threatened him, joked at him, more than anyone else had over the entire course of his training.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nobody ever treated him as an equal. Just reduced to his tragedy. The boy who watched his mother die, the one who got forced into this life against his will. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or worse, when they only ever saw him as Agent Singh’s son. A shadow of the great spy of the agency. A pathetic replacement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No wonder he hadn’t told her to leave him alone yet. Maybe he didn’t even really want her to leave. A small part of Kartik knew that it was too late to let her leave already. His curiosity had gotten the better of him. He didn’t know who this girl was, save for her first name. She was an enigma as far as he was concerned. The mystery itself drew him in more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or so he told himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was another reason. One he would never admit to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had been drowning without any semblance of companionship. He’d never realized how alone and empty he’d felt. Until right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced at her. She was obviously waiting for him to offer up his own name.  He tried to remember his own rule one last time. Even as futile as it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t get attached, Kartik. Don’t get close to anyone.</span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  
  <em></em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>In the end, he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he had tried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kartik.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She quirked an eyebrow at his own lack of a surname. “No family?” she asked, matter of factly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not anymore,” Kartik declared, as an invisible weight lifted off his shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was as if the last vestiges of grief and the last remnants of the young boy he had been were finally dissolving away while also marking the start of the new him.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no more denial. No more returning to his old life. That Kartik was dead. Had been for years but only now could he fully let go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik smiled, turning his eyes down to the floor when he realised what he’d just done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let someone in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mere minutes with her, and somehow Kartik had already let her in. Hadn’t he already given her his time? He’d sat down, and talked to her, more than he had with anyone else at this agency, more than anyone else in years. He didn’t know why he did it, but the fact still remained that he had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he finally looked up, and dared to look at her face - the first face he’d really let himself see and memorize in years - he caught her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t been anything momentous, just a brief look exchanged between the two youngest kids in that vast room. But it had meant something to them. It had been the start of what would become of them in the years to come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Devika and Kartik. The best duo in all of DELTA. The two top agents. Best friends. Partners.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But for now, all she was for Kartik was a reason to stay. And that was enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t need to go home anymore.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Salvation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It isn't easy, being a bartender- or playing at being one, anyway. The only thing that makes this job worthwhile are the people- the<i> men</i>- he gets to meet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>[Turntides Tavern; Goa, India; 2018]</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik’s arm hurt. So much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he wasn’t so used to the throbbing ache from years of injuries, he probably wouldn’t even have been able to move it right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because it hurt. A hell of a lot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik Singh’s arm hurt, and his head was killing him, and the little bruises that littered his combat-scarred body were making it nearly impossible for him to stand still. He considered, for a moment, leaving his post to one of his subordinates to go ice the probably ugly bruise forming on his ribcage (he hadn’t looked at it yet- hadn’t dared to), but then decided against it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d once managed to get out of a demolished warehouse with multiple cracked ribs. This was just a bruise. He could handle it for the remaining hours of his shift. He had to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not weak, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he reminded himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, standing was being a pain in the ass as it were. If he sat down, he might just never stand back up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik sighed and leaned over the counter, resisting the urge to collapse against it.. And ignored the sharp pain that shot up his sides at the action.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why hadn’t he worn more protective gear, honestly?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t even supposed to be his mission, today. The one he had been assigned was to take place two weeks from now, giving Kartik more than enough time to prepare for it. But he had fucking volunteered for this one. (Why? Because things, according to him, had “gotten too boring around here”)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Certainly not boring anymore,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he mused bitterly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was arguably one of his worst days ever, since he had been assigned a long-term mission in Goa. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Possibly</span>
  <em>
    <span> the</span>
  </em>
  <span> worst.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik looked uneasily at the clock again. For the eighth time over the past hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One more hour to closing time. God. Sixty minutes had never felt this long in his life. (And he was someone who had done day long stakeouts. Yet, nothing seemed as long or laborious as this).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt his vision swim a little, and decided to do what any self respecting bartender </span>
  <em>
    <span>(not that Kartik was really either)</span>
  </em>
  <span> would do when he was exhausted to the point of being unable to hold himself upright- he poured himself a drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed the nearest bottle (it was Gin, Kartik cringed a little at that) and threw back a shot. He hated the taste of it as it cascaded down his parched throat, but at least it woke him up a little. Drinking on the job wasn’t allowed, he knew. But tonight, he needed this to do the damn job in the first place</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he fixed the nauseating, utterly bright, irreproachable fake smile he had been wearing ever since his shift began, and turned to face his next customer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” he said, voice cheery in a way he couldn’t bring himself to feel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What can I get you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The same words he had been repeating over and over and</span>
  <em>
    <span> over</span>
  </em>
  <span> the entire damn evening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They seemed to be getting harder to say each time, even though it was almost a robotic process by now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How do people do this as their real job all the time? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kartik wondered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bar was chock-full tonight, with people Kartik couldn’t care less about- even more full than it usually was, which frustrated him to no end. Especially today, when he was about one soft elbow-nudge away from crashing to the floor. And staying there. For a full seven hours (eight was too many; had been for years now)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger smiled, and Kartik couldn’t help but notice even through the haze of exhaustion that the man had spinach stuck in his teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned his gaze back up to the man’s eyes. Tired, like he’d gone far too long without sleep, but rather bright nonetheless. Like a man who had found himself exactly where he wanted to be. Not bad to look at either. A very charming smile, Kartik had to admit. If a little forced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was dressed casually, but well nonetheless. A checkered sweater, the kind that somehow made him look a decade older than Kartik thought he really was. And trousers underneath. Not jeans, like Kartik usually preferred on men he fancied. Trousers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He probably could make do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If it weren’t for the fact that the man was a bit old for kartik’s tastes.. He wasn’t into a nearly nonexistent hairline and a greying beard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He held back a disappointed sigh. A huge part of why he had agreed to this ridiculous cover as a bartender was so he would get to… well, meet people. Meet men. Possibly go a touch beyond just “meeting” them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That part of his expectations had been more or less let down, so far, with far too few exceptions for Kartik to bother considering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a Gin and Tonic for me, thank you,” the man smiled sweetly. He had a dimple, Kartik noticed. He had a thing for those. Kartik had been lucky enough to be blessed with it himself, but his humility (or lack thereof) didn’t stop him from appreciating the same in others. And for a worrying moment there, Kartik nearly threw his preferences all out the window.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Months and months devoid of any sort of human companionship would do that to anyone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik returned the smile, a little more sincere this time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“On it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was good at this, all said and done. Perhaps, in another life, Kartik would have made a stellar bartender. But for now, he was gritting his teeth against his bicep’s insistent protests as he shook the cocktail shaker, and pretending not to notice the tremble in his arm as he poured the drink out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, his customer didn’t seem to notice either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik spared him a glance out of the corner of his eye. The man was on his phone, looking a little rankled at whatever it was that greeted him on his cracked, out-of-date screen. The man’s tired sigh made Kartik pause and consider asking him what was wrong, but he decided against it. He had enough on his plate tonight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, the man told him anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like all the patrons do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik fought very hard to keep his face schooled into a sympathetic expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know any, uh,” he looked at his phone again, “sightseeing spots around here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik blinked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, like- for tourists. Some nice places to visit, that sort of thing- do you- could you tell me-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind positively blanked at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of all the things Kartik had been told about the mission, about his cover and “his” manufactured past, all the facts he’d had forced down his throat- this was the one thing they’d missed out on. It seemed so simple, so impossible to overlook. But whoever said giant world renowned anti crime organisations couldn’t make mistakes?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were in Goa. Of course there were many things to do, to see. There had to be something Kartik remembered. Kartik tried to think of anything at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh… hmm… yeah, there’s a lot of places, yup.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik slid the drink towards the man, hoping to distract him from his very obvious lack of an answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It, quite unsurprisingly, failed to work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he mumbled, diverting his mind towards taking a rather sizable gulp- an action that made Kartik bite back an amused chuckle. The man winced, put his drink down with a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span> (a little louder than ideal anyway), and turned his attention back to a very uncomfortable Kartik. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that he let it show on his face, of course. God, no. What kind of spy flouts rule number zero? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything will do, honestly. Any place.” He sounded rather desperate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked hopefully at Kartik, who refused to meet his eyes. He wasn’t rude, usually, and he didn’t want to be now either. But feigning disinterest was the only way to get this man to leave him alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s the wife, you know?” He went on, unperturbed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddamnit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s our anniversary, thought I’d bring her out here for a nice week long vacation, but- surprise surprise, she won’t let me live here either.” He laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik raised a carefully groomed eyebrow. And said nothing. Certainly did not laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, not one of these.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still didn’t stop talking. Kartik had to give him points for tenacity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wants it all her way, you know? Wants to order me around here too- it’s ridiculous. I mean, I’ve put up with it for fifteen years, as of yesterday! You’d think I’m allowed a break!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was met with a stony silence, which effectively killed his weak chuckle immediately. Kartik briefly considered wishing the man a happy anniversary, possibly congratulating him- then decided against it. There wasn’t much to feel happy about, judging by the 3 minutes he’d talked to this man.. Not much to congratulate, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess that’s women, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik bit his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know. And he never would know. But, by god, if he had to hear this man say another damn word about his wife, Kartik might have just whipped out the little knife strapped to the inside of his waistband and cut away what little hair was left on his head. He had no tolerance for this bullshit on a regular day, but especially not on a day like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled. Tight lipped, forced, and very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>annoyed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Afraid you’ll have to ask someone else,” he pointed in the direction of the crowd gathered around their television, “I honestly can’t tell you where to go. When you’ve been here long enough, things just… blend together.” He lied through his teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been here all of four months. Most of which had been spent strategizing at home, playing at being a bartender, or apparently getting the life kicked out of him behind seedy mafia-front restaurants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pain shot up his ribs again. He pressed his elbow into his side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, no, there hadn’t been much time left over for sightseeing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess I’ve just… seen too much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man nodded politely. Kartik shrugged, his mind absently reflecting on how true a statement that was, both in and out of context. He really had seen too much. Both in Goa, and before Goa. He’d seen too much of death, taken more lives than he was wholeheartedly willing to accept, watched family and friends and colleagues die, one of them in his arms, watched his life and half hearted attempts at love simply fade away because of this shitty fucking job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d seen too much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing here really gives me joy anymore… yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was an incredibly depressing way of putting it. If he’d known any better, he would’ve thought this kindly, smiling bartender had been intending to convey something else entirely. Like there was something else behind those words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He brushed it off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy probably just had a flair for the dramatic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik averted his eyes to the small stain on the counter, suddenly wondering if he’d said too much. Apparently he hadn’t, thank goodness, because the man simply nodded, picked up his mostly full glass and moved to seat himself by the television.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik blew slowly out of his mouth, his fingers finding his hair again. He closed his eyes momentarily, wishing time would make an exception for him just this once and fly even when he was decidedly not having any fun whatsoever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind wandered, thinking of nothing in particular, just needing an escape from his current predicament. And as they often did when he was lost in thought, his eyes shifted focus rapidly over the entire room, darting to and from the corners, the exits and entrances, mentally mapping them out again for the billionth time. Just in case he happened to need a quick escape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Force of habit.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, even then, internally he was keeping track of the time. He couldn’t wait to end his work and go back upstairs. His eyes lingered at the blocked off staircase in the back, the one that led to his room. They were rather modest, his accommodations. Just enough room for one man, just about big enough and normal looking enough to pass as any common, low end apartment should anybody happen to visit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had received strict instructions to limit visitors as much as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that he gave half a damn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There had been one up there already. One and a half, if you count the time he couldn’t make it up the stairs-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik smirked at the memory. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then sighed, because that was all he had, now. Memories. The mission had begun eating up his time, taking a toll on his body as well. He could barely stand upright, some days, let alone… entertain company.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only man kartik cared about getting upstairs now was himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He indulged his imagination a little, let his thoughts run wild with the utterly alluring idea of finally being able to go up and collapse bonelessly onto his bed. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, oh no- after a horrible night like this his mind wouldn’t give him any semblance of comfort. (He had learned that by his third day.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, Kartik knew sleep would evade him tonight, but at least he’d get to stop for a while. He’d get to lie motionless, sink into the covers and just stay there. He’d get a chance to still his thoughts and slow his breathing. Both were a luxury in his line of work. To be able to let your guard down like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To take a few moments, or even hours to push away all the years of training and instincts instilled into him to the recesses of his mind, and to allow the small pleasures of living to take centre stage instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To be able to forget who he was, and the uncertainty of every moment - to just simply, rest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, he longed for the comfortable cold sheets of his room, and the too soft pillows and the overwhelmingly sweet smelling carpet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik yearned for it with every ache in his worn out body, because he knew that it would be his only salvation tonight. Before he had to wake up tomorrow, ready to do it all over again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet… a part of him craved the escape he could only find in another man. He could use the opportunity to turn his brain off and live in the moment, to just exist in his body for an hour. Nowhere else, no quiet alleys, no darkened, unregistered SUVs, no damp basements. Just him, and whatever stranger took his fancy that night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A still mind was nice, but one flooded with endorphins and dopamine and whatever else he had earned all those years ago in school (who could remember?) was </span>
  <em>
    <span>decidedly</span>
  </em>
  <span> better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He eyed the crowd warily, one last time, raising a frustrated eyebrow when he found absolutely nobody to his liking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finding someone up to his nearly impossible expectations- Kartik was a leo through and through- was hard enough, add to that the fact that finding a man who, well, enjoyed the company of other men, in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>regular</span>
  </em>
  <span> bar (how boring), was near impossible on its own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>He didn’t find anyone worth</span> <span>being invited to his room for a private drink.</span></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Outside the doors of bullet proof glass, a man peered thoughtfully into the crowd within.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The poor fellow had fallen prey to yet another long, admittedly terrible day. What was that, third in a row, now? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The past week hadn’t been kind to him. His head ached like a bitch, he was exhausted past the point of sleep, and his neck was killing him from sitting at a desk all day. He’d been forced to skip lunch to meet some stupid deadline, had settled for a samosa and some stupid, half eaten packet of Polo mints at 4:00 pm, followed by a dinner he was too tired to actually enjoy. All of that, just to receive a poorer performance review than he had been expecting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today had </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could use a drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps ten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman Tripathi stepped off his bike, and headed straight for the doors that held his salvation.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>misleading descriptions do suck, huh? :) you'll see a LOT more of Aman in the coming chapters, we promise</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Strangers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>People meet strangers every day and every where. But only some instances are really memorable. And often times, those meetings can lead to something...more.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>our longest chapter yet :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was warm, the weather outside. Humid. The kind that Aman absolutely loathed with all his heart, the kind that left him in desperate need of a dip in a pool somewhere. Not the kind that led him to a drink with more ice cubes in it than strictly necessary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman had expected this when he had been assigned a six month project in Goa, of course he had. He’d packed for it too.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, his job seemed to not only demand his time and energy and relentless, thankless efforts, but also his freedom to dress as he pleased. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God being an editor sucked right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had unbuttoned his collar a long, long time ago, the second he had stepped out of that godforsaken building he was forced to spend far too many of his waking hours in. Yet, it wasn’t enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The inside of the building was nice. Air conditioned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The outside, not quite.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Aman found himself walking towards the bar he happened across on his journey home </span>
  <em>
    <span>(home? He didn’t feel at home here), </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was with the blind hope that he would be relieved of the steady burning in his neck, on his back, under his arms- Aman came from a place where unbearable heat was the norm, perhaps, but not sultry climates like this one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hated sweating and it wasn’t just because he hated ruining his tailored suits and dress shirts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt another pang of… something, pass through him. A rather odd mixture of nostalgia, tinged with a hint of loss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman frowned when he realized what it was. It had been a long time now, since he’d last felt it this intensely. But it was true. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He missed Allahabad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Missed the streets he grew up on, missed the Ganga and the way she sounded early in the morning, and the smell of the earth that he’d spent so long just lying on. The way everyone knew who he was, how he’d be greeted with smiles and love at every corner store and how he’d never run out of people to laugh with on lonely days - he missed all of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had never really felt like he belonged in any other place since he left all of that behind. His job didn’t let him stay anywhere long enough for him to get attached. Neither to the place itself or any people there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His current assignment of six months was the longest he had ever had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman tried shaking the sand out of his immaculate Lee Coopers mostly unsuccessfully, each frustrated step giving him a rather awkward gait. He sighed, cursed twice, and shook his head before simply giving up. If he tracked sand onto the nice wooden floors he could see inside the bar, then so be it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he pushed the doors open, the blast of cold air that caught him face first made Aman stand still for a second. This was bliss, this was utter bliss. He nearly lost himself for a second there, closed his eyes and let the sudden relief overwhelm him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman was right where he wanted to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~~~~</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment Kartik heard the doors open, he suppressed his initial urge to scream in frustration. He was so close to the end of his shift. To the end of the night, but now it seemed he’d never get the solace he so craved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Late night customers, especially ones that stroll in at this hour almost always stay for a good half an hour after closing. No matter how many times Kartik tries to get them to leave, by the time he actually gets to close shop it’d be overtime. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Usually he never minded the late nights, especially if the customers were good company to at least listen to but not tonight. Please oh god not tonight. The thought of giving someone else his best smile was positively nauseating. Even if it would be fake, and even when he’d mastered the art of the customer service job smile eons ago - Kartik couldn’t fathom playing that role for more than necessary tonight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He really didn't know if he could do it- the conversation with the stranger had left him feeling remarkably annoyed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not simply because of the way he talked about his wife, thought that was part of it. Kartik just didn't like thinking about his time in Goa, or anything it entailed. The man had put him off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. No point dwelling on it now, this job was being hard enough to do today as it were. Kartik clenched his teeth for a moment, forced his mind to shift into his autopilot mode. Immediately his lips slid into a practiced welcoming grin, masking most of the exhaustion, as he raised his head back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he turned his attention to the doors, Kartik found the smile slipping from his face anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not because he wasn't up to greeting the man who stood there, no.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For other reasons entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Involuntarily his lips parted slightly as an inaudible gasp left them. He didn’t know how long he stood there with his mouth slightly open, as if it were an invitation for the other man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy at the door was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik couldn't have averted his eyes if he had tried. Not that he did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something he couldn't be blamed for, really, if Kartik didn't know any better he would've said the man was going whatever he was doing on purpose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew there was a rational explanation there, that he was probably just doing that to beat the undoubtedly unbearable weather outside. But Kartik let himself imagine for a moment or two that the undeniably sexy things he was doing were… to be sexy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik finally shut his mouth and swallowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watched the man stand there, head raised to the air conditioner at the entrance, eyes gently closed and collar button all open. Kartik watched him loosen his tie- not take it off, he might have well caught fire if the man had taken it off entirely- he stretched his neck to the right, breathed out slowly and opened them again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik turned away, somewhat embarrassed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman blinked. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought the bartender had been staring at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped forward, not noticing Kartik watching him out of the corner of his eye as Aman came to take a place on one of the bar stools. It was like the crowd had disappeared, suddenly, all Kartik was aware of was Aman's footsteps on the hardwood floor as he came closer and closer, finally depositing himself in the empty one right in front of Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which was exactly what he had been hoping for, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik waited for him to speak, curious about what this attractive stranger's voice would sound like. He didn't seem the type to have a deep one, more something too high pitched for Kartik's taste. Not that he was anywhere within a 20 mile radius of caring, of course, the man could have the voice of Mickey Mouse on helium and Kartik would still be willing to look past that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited, and waited, knowing full well in the back of his mind that there was probably some other order he was currently ignoring, but all Aman did was put his hands on the counter top and rest his head on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't move. For a good few seconds. Simply stated there, trying to get a grip on himself after the shitty day he'd been forced to endure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy could probably use a drink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The order he'd received lay forgotten as Kartik set about fixing up a drink for the tired stranger who found himself at the bar that night. For more reasons than one, as much as Kartik didn't really care to admit it. Generosity aside, the man seemed to meet every single one of Kartik's standards, and Kartik's go-to for making his appreciation and intentions for someone clear was handing them a drink they never really asked for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that was exactly what Kartik did. It took him no time, honestly, his exhaustion remained forgotten as he fixed up the best drink he could think of, and slid it over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found himself praying silently, hoping the man would appreciate Kartik's gesture, perhaps even for something he'd rather not voice out loud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had his smile ready this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he meant this one. The first real one of the night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman looked up slowly when he heard the sound of glass sliding against wood. He blinked twice, a gesture Kartik found absolutely adorable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head wordlessly towards the full glass he'd placed in front of Aman's arm, diverting his attention towards it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman blinked again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't at his brightest today, no.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"...sorry," Aman pushed it away from himself, "I don't think this is mine-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik shook his head, effectively silencing Aman.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What on earth-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, sir, you've made a mistake-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sir.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik liked the sound of that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He decided he liked this new customer, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No no, it's on the house," Kartik winked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If you want it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman frowned, unsure of how to proceed. He couldn't think of a damn reason a bartender would slide a drink over to him for free. Not a single one. He wasn't going to complain, honestly, until he remembered one of the foremost rules he had been taught.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thank you," Aman smiled, and Kartik had to admit it brightened his night up a bit, "but I prefer not to accept drinks from strangers. Nothing personal, I promise-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik waved his hand dismissively. Aman didn't need to explain. As a spy he understood the dangers of ingesting substances from unfamiliar sources. The man probably had other trepidations entirely, from the look of his business casual clothing and the ID card around his neck- one Kartik couldn't read from that distance even after several attempts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Kartik could empathize. He didn't take it personally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was, however, disappointed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Kartik Singh did not like being disappointed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well," he slid the drink back towards Aman, much to the latter's confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The name's Kartik Singh."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman looked up at him, confusion etched into his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik smiled, somewhat amused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Now that you know my name, we aren't strangers anymore, are we?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman couldn't help the smile that sneaked its way onto his face, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man was clever. He had to admit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Definitely one of the more interesting pick up lines he had heard, if this was meant to be one. Aman wasn't quite sure yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Have at it," Kartik smirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman moved his gaze slightly, from the admittedly attractive bartender to the drink that had been slid over to him. He could tell it was a whiskey neat just from the way its smell slightly drifted onto him from the guy who made it (‘Kartik’ his mind supplied, Kartik Singh).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t unusual that he’d get hit on by strangers. He knew he was charming when he needed to be. Even used it for his job when he needed it, trying to get stories out of his clients. But getting hit on by a male bartender the moment he stepped into a bar - well. That wasn’t something that happened often. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He considered if he should take the drink from a stranger but ultimately figured it was safe. He was the bartender after all, and he was just doing his job. Even though the flirting was an unasked-for add on to the service. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, Aman had come here tonight for a drink and whiskey was one of his go to drinks on rough nights like these. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Figuring he wouldn’t automatically drop dead like the victim in his client’s new story, he reached his hand forward and grasped the glass gently. With the ease and expert of a seasoned drinker, Aman swirled the glass glacially in circles, under the light of the lamps, watching the dark caramel liquid slosh against the edges. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could still feel the barte- Kartik’s eyes on him. He paid him no attention as he brought the drink up to his lips and took a small sip, savouring the burn in his throat as it flowed down it. He lowered the drink a little, and let the smell of the whiskey mix with the burning in his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was definitely the good stuff that he’d been given. Maybe he could tolerate the flirting if it meant amazingly delicious drinks, Aman mused internally. Especially if they always came for free. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes for a while, letting the mixture of tastes and smells bring him back to the days where he would drink in secret at home. It had been so long since he’d even thought of those memories now but the drink in his hand and the ambiance of the bar this late at night made him melancholy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped himself from that line of thought for a second time that night. God, being in Goa really made it a struggle to not miss home. The one he’d left behind eons ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened his eyes again, sipping more of his drink and finally turned to look at his gracious host of the night. Kartik was at the other end of the bar now, serving more drinks to the rest of the patrons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course he couldn’t very well stay at Aman’s side all night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman took this time, when Kartik’s attention was focused elsewhere to really catalogue this gorgeous bartender. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik was a tall and lean young man. He looked to be about Aman’s age, maybe only slightly older. But the way he held himself, even though he looked tired as a zombie, spoke of a maturity that most people Aman’s age didn’t possess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On top of a tired, fake smile, he was also wearing a light grey v-neck sweater and some dark jeans. Aman couldn’t notice the exact colour of the jeans, as the bar lights made them change shades from every angle but he could tell they were just the perfect fit for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stretched out at the right places, like his thighs and long legs and yet, looked like they didn’t constrict the man until he couldn’t move comfortably. It suited him. Aman wondered if they hid anything at all with the way they clung on to every inch of those toned legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His grey sweater though, seemed slightly too large on him. The sleeves covered his full arms until his wrists, gently caressing the veins that were visible on them and the v-neck was loose enough to show off more skin and neck than originally intended. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were wide enough to show off the man’s collarbones and the tip of the V-neck dipped low enough to show a hint of what seemed to be a firm chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are those freckles all over his skin? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that Aman was complaining of course. He’d come back to this bar tonight looking for some relaxation after a long hard day at work. He only expected some good drinks and music but the view he was getting was an unexpected and welcome surprise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What really captured Aman’s attention though, was the ink running across the man’s skin. An intricate tattoo on the edge of his shoulder, barely peeking out under the sweater, and another one on his neck, displayed proudly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The one on his shoulder looked to be either a black work or traditional tattoo. Aman could see some lines and curves lining those toned muscles and running into the arm sleeves. He couldn’t tell what the design was but he was intrigued by it nonetheless. Another reason to add to the list of reasons why Kartik was so alluring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the tattoo that was of most significance to Aman was the one on his neck. It was a solid black -lined, geometric tattoo. It was fairly common as a tattoo style nowadays. It was nothing fancy but the line-work was impeccable as far as Aman could tell in that dim lighting of the bar. What made it really stand out was what it was and what it represented. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a triangle. Not just any triangle but an upside down triangle. And with the way Kartik had been flirting with him since he stepped foot into the bar, Aman had a very good idea that maybe- he didn’t have to leave the bar alone tonight after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Aman stayed put on his seat and waited for the other man to finish his job and come back to him (of course he would be coming back to him). In the meantime, Aman traced those solid black lines with the corner of his eyes, as his pupils stayed focused on his drink. He wondered just how many more tattoos Kartik was hiding under all that clothing and if he would ever get a chance to find out for himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik knew the other man was staring at him. He could feel eyes boring into his back, and the distinct feeling of being checked out by a stranger wraps around him. Even as he went back to the whiny husband customer, his attention was all still on the newcomer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help himself. Ever since the man walked through the doors to the bar, Kartik had been hooked. And gods, the way the man did everything with ease and the coolness factor radiating off him only made Kartik more interested. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had wanted to make a good impression and also lighten the man’s mood and that is why he’d given him one of the bar’s top quality whiskey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did not anticipate that the man would be this appreciative of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had watched discreetly as the man slowly and languidly took his time to sip the drink. He had only taken one sip but watching him do even that, had left Kartik feeling hotter than the air conditioned room should have allowed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man - who still hadn’t told Kartik his name - had taken but a sip, but Kartik had tracked that sip of whiskey as it had flowed down his throat, and as the man swallowed it. Somehow, Kartik swore he could actually feel the acid burn of the whiskey down his throat too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wondered if maybe he’d get a chance to taste the whiskey after all, directly from the other man’s lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, Kartik watched as the man’s eyes slid closed, a small smile taking shape at the corner of his face and his frown eased into a calmness. He couldn’t pull away from the sight as his tongue slid out gracefully to lick the remaining whiskey on his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The warm yellow lights of the bar only served to highlight those lips even more than they already shone. Kartik wanted to stay there and record every movement of the man’s but he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still on the job. He still had others to attend to, so he’d reluctantly moved away from the man that had captured his attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once he had satisfied the alcohol cravings of everyone, Kartik spun back to the man. Only to find him already looking at Kartik. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their eyes connected across the bar, and Kartik let a smile slip. Granted it looked more like a smirk, but it was the first real smile of his in a long few days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sauntered back to the guy, eyes never leaving the other’s honey brown orbs and came to stop right in front of him. He put one elbow - the one not injured and aching- on the bar top and placed his other arm on his hips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watched the guy’s eyes flicker to his hip before coming back to stare at him. Kartik was doing everyone on purpose now, every move and action was all deliberate and Kartik could tell that the man had noticed it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the man still didn’t say anything, so Kartik figured at least he could start first. He really wanted to get to know this man and not just in the biblical sense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Kartik whispers in the voice that he uses in his honeypot missions, “what do you do?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s barely noticeable but Kartik watches the man still. He might not have caught it if he wasn’t a trained spy but he is. He saw the man’s shoulders tense up, and watched as his fingers clenched into the glass a little more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It only lasts for a second or two before it’s gone, and the man is back to being the picture perfect image of calm and relaxed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I’m not telling you that,” Aman laughed lightly, hoping he had successfully hidden the slightly nervous jitter in his voice. This was a new place, with new people, of course he had a few trepidations, Kartik reasoned with himself. He willed the paranoid always-alert part of his brain to shut up for just one night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t even know my name yet, Kartik.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The goofy smile that sneaked its way onto his face at that moment couldn’t have been hidden even if kartik had been bothered enough to try. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kartik. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was what this man just said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were on a first name basis, apparently. At least, in one direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way this handsome stranger said his name- it sounded perfect on his tongue. It was a name. That was all it was, a name he had heard a million times before. And yet, it felt new. It sounded different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It sounded as if it belonged to that man only. As if no one else had a right to say it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let himself muse, for a second, about what it would sound like being screamed. He briefly thanked Devi for insisting he use his real name as a cover here in Goa. He didn’t know if he could have handled this man calling him by one of his many aliases. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he pushed the whole train of thought away, because they still had a long, long way to go anything more could happen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not too long, hopefully</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kartik added mentally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then, may I have your name?” Kartik smirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman eyed him up and down, debating within himself about whether or not he wanted to give the man he’d known for all of five minutes, now. It was in Aman’s very nature to be guarded, to err on the side of caution no matter what it meant he was sacrificing. Accepting a drink from this man had been uncharacteristic enough of him, giving Kartik his name too was…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Exactly what he was going to do, apparently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just this once, Aman decided to unshackle himself. He deserved a break, for fuck’s sake. He wanted a good end to this shitty day. Wanted to feel something other than frustration for once, to let his mind be flooded by something apart from exhaustion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman wanted Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And if the way Kartik had been eyeing him up and down was any indication at all, the feeling was well past mutual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why shouldn’t Aman indulge himself? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just this once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was in Goa, after all. He was in the land of beaches and tourists, the city known for partying and letting loose. If he didn’t indulge himself here then where else? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just one night, and this stranger would be out of his life like all the others.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aman.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Kartik nodded, “you look like an Aman, yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He raised one eyebrow and looked up at Kartik, as if daring him to make a comment about his height. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing bad, don’t worry, just… Suits you, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman watched him walk a few feet away, get back to shaking yet another customer’s drink.  Damn, he missed Kartik already. He watched Kartik’s brows furrow in concentration as he shook the container up and down, eyes fixated on absolutely nothing else and Aman's mind went in all sorts of directions he wasn’t entirely sure he was proud of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head ever so slightly, and the thoughts away in the process.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman had an entire night of (hopefully smooth) talking to get through before he could let his mind and imagination run wild. He didn’t want to be let down after allowing his heart to hope a little too hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not twice on the same day. The bad performance review had been disappointing enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, now that I know your name,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had returned, apparently. He stood right in front of Aman and leaned on the counter, making Aman suddenly hyper aware of his every little movement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do y-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hang on, no no no,” Aman waved him away. “You asked your question, let me ask one. It’s my turn now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik raised an eyebrow, smirked in that same way that sent Aman’s blood rushing in very inconvenient places, and pushed himself off the counter. Aman watched him cross his arms, and stared at them just a little longer. Simply because he wanted to. And he couldn’t be bothered if- Nah, he was hoping- Kartik noticed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to know what I do?” Kartik frowned in faux confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman chuckled. It wasn’t a very good joke, really, but unfortunately a chuckle was mandated with the agenda he had in mind</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I want to know if you give everyone free drinks here. That’s not a very good way to run a business.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, I’m not going to be here much longer, so I don’t care. Much,” he added, in case someone on his side- the wrong side- of the counter was listening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman frowned at that statement. He couldn’t decipher the meaning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was Kartik not a full time bartender?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was he planning to quit soon?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was it time Aman pulled his tie off entirely?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He decided he could only answer one of those, and proceeded to do exactly that. He didn’t break eye contact once, staring pointedly at Kartik as he undid the tie a lot slower than necessary and placed it next to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik licked his lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But to answer your question, no, I don’t give everyone free drinks. Just the really pretty ones,” he winked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman tried to will away the slight blush that crept to his cheeks. Quite unsuccessfully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, can I ask mine again?”  Kartik asked, pretending not to notice the blush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What occupies your days, Aman? What gets you out of bed in the morning? What puts food on your table?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was an incredibly, unnecessarily dramatic way of asking what Aman did for a living, honestly, and Aman wanted to laugh. The last question was probably the only one he could answer honestly. His damn job took up both his days and his nights, and it definitely was not what got him out of bed. Maybe the end result of the job, yes, but not the job itself. On the contrary, it was why Aman found it incredibly difficult to get out of bed most days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m an editor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped there, as though that was answer enough. Aman seemed to think it was, but Kartik’s expressionless stare told him that he really ought to go on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a, uh, freelance editor. Currently working for Marco Publishing. Heard of them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, yeah,” Kartik lied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, real good publishers. Lot of success stories there, pun unintended.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They hire freelancers like me, people who don’t have the commitment abilities to work with one company longer than a few months,” he took a moment to savour Kartik’s soft chuckle, “Unfortunately, or fortunately, I don’t know- their only opening was their Goa branch. So here I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not from Goa?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman wanted to point out that technically, it was his turn to ask a question. But he let it slide. For now. He didn’t mind continuing, now that Kartik had managed the impossible and made him begin talking about this in the first place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman shook his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Delhi, actually. Needed a change of setting, so I thought, well, why not, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik’s answering grin was pure sunshine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously? Delhi- Talk about coincidence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman blinked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I live there! I’m here on vacation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman gives him a puzzled look at that. His eyes roamed up and down Kartik once more, but this time, it made Kartik feel as though Aman was judging him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, my real job is actually as a Public Relations Manager. It’s a big company so I travel all over to their other branches as needed like you! But the headquarters, sorry I mean the main office, is in Delhi. That’s where I first joined actually.” Kartik explained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew that he hadn’t needed to tell Aman all this, but Kartik really wanted to make a good impression on Aman. Even if most of what he was saying was fake and only a cover story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman glanced around at the bar from using his eyes and then looked back up at Kartik once he’d surveyed the place to his content. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You earn well enough to travel around for your job.” He states. Not a question but a statement. Kartik lets him continue without interrupting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you say you’re here on vacation.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik nods a little as the beginnings of a smirk start to form on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And yet even on vacation you decide to work? As a bartender no less?” Aman questions finally.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik silently smiles and waits for the perfect opening to say what’s on his mind. He stares at Aman for a second longer before he turns his gaze to Aman’s glass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a swipe of his hand,  Kartik slides Aman's glass towards him and refills it without prompting. As he’s focused on the drink, Aman finally asks the big question on his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this when you can afford to not work at all?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik hears the question, and continues to finish the drink before finally looking up. With a confident flick of his wrist Kartik nudges the glass back to Aman, and winks at him before replying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who said I'm working here for the money and not for the free eye candy?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their eyes connect again for the hundredth time that night, but this time, all the pretenses fall away and they’re both connected by the sheer emotion that passes through them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s like a game of chess, where they’re both waiting to see who’d blink first and bow out. They both stay still, drinking each other in like a thirsty man in a dessert. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s Aman that breaks first, glancing away from Kartik to the drink in his hand. He gently grabs it and takes a long slow sip, aware of the eyes never leaving him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t look up from the glass as he asks in a much lower voice than what he’d been using all night. “Is this on the house too?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Kartik’s curt reply makes Aman finally turn back to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, this one you have to pay for.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should have told me that before I drank it. What if I didn’t have the money for it? What then?” Aman enunciates slowly. It’s a hypothetical, they both know that his wallet is in his pocket, it was visible if you looked and Aman was sure that Kartik had </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was fun to mess with him all the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet, Kartik kept mum and leaned forward onto the bar-top. “Well, I guess you would have to pay me back in some other way then.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me.” Aman demanded. He’d stopped pretending that he wasn’t just about to spend the night with this bartender he’d literally just met an hour or so ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik leaned in closer, their lips about an inch or two away from the other’s. “How about,” Kartik whispered. Suddenly he backed up again and stood nonchalantly away from Aman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about I show you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik can visibly see how frustrated Aman is getting with all his teasing. It’s both humbling and hot that he has that effect on Aman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Show me? Here?” Aman gasps out in a whisper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one else is around so why not?” Kartik smiled and that’s when Aman looks around at their surroundings to see that Kartik was right. Everyone else has left, aman had heard the dwindling noise of a dispersing crowd, but his eyes had been too fixated on Kartik to notice. There were empty bottles and glasses on every other table but Aman hadn’t seen it until he turned around just then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned back to Kartik unimpressed and quirked an eyebrow. “Really, here?” He asked, a tiny hint of frustration seeping through. Not that he hadn’t done more in less comfortable places, it was just that Aman had been really looking forward to at least getting some time on a bed tonight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly he was less tempted to go through with this, but before he could say anything, Kartik had hopped onto the table with one hand, and with all the ease of a parkour artist, slid across it and jumped down to stand beside Aman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I do have my room. Upstairs. It has a really comfortable bed. Big enough for two or more. The carpet smells ridiculously sweet.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman twisted in his seat to look at Kartik standing next to him now. He frowned, torn between amusement and confusion about why Kartik would mention his carpet or the way it smells. But Aman wasn’t in a mood to accidentally offend the one man who had paid him any attention since he had shifted to Goa.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Plus, the way he said it- like he was actually proud. It was cute. Many things about Kartik were hot, but this was just too cute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Aman smirked, holding his hand out for Kartik to take it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lead the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik didn’t take Aman’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had a whole other plan in mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman watched in impatient anticipation as he got off his barstool, held his hand out to Kartik once again, and raised an eyebrow when Kartik simply ignored him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Were they… Not going upstairs, then?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was merely Kartik’s idea of foreplay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik stepped forward, and took another step, and another, deliberately slow, all angled in a way that he knew would direct Aman’s attention down where Kartik wanted it to be. It was a brilliant coincidence that he’d worn his best pants today, the fabric clung to every curve, every muscle and accentuated it in the best possible way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was his intention to have Aman stare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman, for all his merits, fell for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fell hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And for once, tonight, he didn’t bother hiding his very obvious thoughts under a veneer of civilized behaviour, or shame, or dignity, or any of that crap. He made sure Kartik could feel his intense gaze up and down his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik reached the foot of the stairs, placed a hand on the banister and turned around, expecting to see-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Exactly what he saw</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman was practically undressing him with his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you coming?” Kartik purred, holding his own hand out, this time. He made sure to bring his gaze right upto Aman’s eyes and keep it there, unwavering, conveying exactly what he wanted. Kartik raised an eyebrow, let his lips part in this stupid, stupid alluring way that drove Aman up the goddamn wall anyway. Aman watched his tongue dart out and over his lower lip, and all of a sudden he had a very clear idea of exactly where else he wanted that tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman looked down, and chuckled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wanted me to stare, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik blinked innocently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I see,” he nodded in amusement. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik hid his small smile, covered it up with an insolent pout.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you coming, or not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do I know you’re not going to murder me or something?” Aman teased, leaning back into the bar table, almost fully parading himself across it. Two could play at this game. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now it was Kartik’s turn to be caught staring. He let his eyes wash all over the man again. He tracked every curve of his body from the bottom all the way to his exposed neck, before finally looking him in the eye. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He put his hand out again, “Do you trust me?” He quipped. “Your highness?” he added. He couldn’t help himself from making that cheesy Aladdin reference. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saw a flicker of recognition pass through Aman’s face in acknowledgement. Aman understood it. A man of good taste Kartik thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He held the hand out still, waiting for any response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to show me a whole new world now?” Aman bantered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You won’t know unless you try.” Kartik offered. That was it. The offer was out in the open now. No more foreplay hidden behind endless flirting. The offer was clearly laid out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It just came down to whether Aman wanted to take him up on it or not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik wasn’t one to be blindsided. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unless he let himself be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman walked forward with purpose, grabbed Kartik’s hand like the latter had been waiting for…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And didn’t follow him up the stairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik exclaimed softly when he felt himself being yanked backwards and shoved into the wall behind him. This was not how he envisioned the rest of the night going, didn’t imagine it beginning right here on the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Aman was looking at him like he was a three course goddamn meal, something unbelievably tempting, and all his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik appreciated being looked at like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And even so, he couldn’t resist the quip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Impatient, Aman?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman exhaled sharply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, you have</span>
  <em>
    <span> no idea.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was all it took. Just those words before Aman was being pulled forward by the collar and devoured alive. Kartik forced his mouth open with his own, letting his lips glide against Aman’s in the most teasing, frustrating, of ways that left Aman overwhelmed with all that he was feeling, but craving so, so much more all the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik reached down between them, undid that utterly pointless belt and threw it somewhere over his head with reckless abandon. It could’ve knocked over a glass or two, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to. Kartik Singh had a tongue in his mouth that wasn’t his own, fingers in his hair that made his knees go weak, and a hand snaking its way down his back until it found its destination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik gasped, a pleased little sound that went straight to Aman’s ego.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amongst other places. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Upstairs?” Kartik asked again. He would’ve loved to get to it right here, honestly, but his back was killing him as it were and he didn’t think a hardwood floor made for a very good place to… proceed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, let’s- KARTIK WHAT-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go up, or not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik lifted him up almost effortlessly, a miracle considering how sore his entire body was. Probably something to do with adrenaline, or endorphins, or… something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman’s legs found their way around his waist in no time. He laughed, partly amused and partly bewildered. But he let himself be carried anyway enjoying all of this far too much for his own good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When his hand left Kartik’s hair, it was to slam the door shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it stayed shut, until next morning.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>we told you this chapter would be fun ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. An Arrangement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kartik never liked routines. Repetition was dangerous, he didn't embrace anything short of unpredictability.</p><p>He had his own rules to ensure that. And he had always worshipped them, as though his life depended upon it- Which it did. Nothing could make him go against his own principles, except - </p><p>Aman Tripathi.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apologies for the hiatus, unfortunately real life called.</p><p>We hope this was worth the wait &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You drool in your sleep”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman Tripathi’s eyes fluttered open, roused partly by the sunrays streaming in through the wide open windows, and partly by the man standing against them, his mostly bare body silhouetted against the delicate morning light. Aman blinked twice, shook his head, and finally tried to process whatever gibberish… Kartik, yes, that was his name, had uttered and disturbed his sleep with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik smirked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said,” he stepped forward lightly, coming closer to seat himself at the edge of the bed, “you drool in your sleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of all things his partners had complained of in the past, (</span>
  <em>
    <span>you never listen, you’re always lost to the world, I can’t believe you forgot our anniversary, why are you so closed off,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>how the fuck did you set the cupcakes on fire</span>
  </em>
  <span> came to mind) drooling had never been on the list.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was slander.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do not!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You kinda do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman’s frown lightened, making way for slight embarrassment. He hesitantly brought his hand up to his lips, and frowned when it came away clean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not drooling.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman glared at Kartik, unimpressed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not now, but you were. For a bit. At about... 2:30 am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had woken up, then- no, got up off the bed, more like, he hadn’t fallen asleep at all- having forgotten to take his sleeping pills that night. And he couldn’t risk falling asleep without them, especially next to a veritable stranger. Who probably wouldn’t react kindly to his nightmares. Experience had taught him that people were awfully curious about why Kartik had rolled off the bed and landed on his face, and why and/or what he had been shouting as he did so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The incessant questions were a nightmare in their own right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Never again, thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought of taking one had briefly crossed his mind, when Aman had excused himself to use the restroom after they were- for the lack of a better word- </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But he had realised to his horror that he had left them in his mirror stand, inside the currently occupied bathroom. So he would have to wait a bit, until Aman came out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After which Kartik did go in, only to realise that he had fucking left them in his bedside cabinet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he would have to wait until after Aman left. Or decided to use the bathroom yet again, but something told Kartik that was probably unlikely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then Aman </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> left, which shouldn’t really have surprised him considering it was nearly 2:00 am, but it did anyway. Anyone who didn’t leave always surprised Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is why Kartik found himself staying up until he was sure Aman was asleep (on the side Kartik kept his cabinet, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>should anything be easy?), padded his way over to his with light footsteps, and caught Aman out of the corner of his eye as he did so. His mouth was unintentionally open in his sheer exhaustion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he was drooling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tiny, negligible bit, but still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had smiled at that. In its own strange way, it was as cute as it was sort of weird.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smile which had fallen from his face when he realised he had run out of pills.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wonderful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman had turned over onto his back, then, and closed his mouth back up less than a minute later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up on his elbows and watched Kartik smile minutely at the memory, though he could not put a finger on the reason behind that smile for the life of him. And he didn’t really find himself caring, either. Whatever the reason was, it was a nice smile. That was all he could bother to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he settled for another question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why were you up at 2:30?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This man had an insane stamina, if he wasn’t tired after that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No reason,” Kartik shrugged, “Just couldn’t sleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which, to be fair, was not a lie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you manage to sleep after?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Kartik’s turn to frown now. Why Aman was asking questions nobody had asked him in years, he did not entirely understand. Why the amount of sleep Kartik got was a relevant topic of discussion, when Aman was covered in nothing but sheets, and Kartik was sitting very much in reach, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was a lie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Aman nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik nodded back rather awkwardly, unsure of how else to respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence that befell them at that was not exactly comfortable.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman kicked himself for effectively killing the conversation before it began.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For fuck’s sake, Who says “Yeah. Good?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, there it was again. The reason behind why aman didn’t do one night stands often. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, this, amongst several other, less important reasons.The morning after was far too awkward to deal with for Aman. In fact, more often than not it was hardly worth the night itself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman sat up fully, tapped his fingers on the mattress underneath, and prayed for a way out of the disconcerting silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled uneasily at Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik, damn him, did nothing but smile back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman didn’t know how to proceed, here. And the way Kartik was looking at him, as though expecting him to say something was… put simply, jarring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hated this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman looked at the watch that sat on the cabinet beside him. It read 7:00 am, he didn’t need to be at work for another two hours. (Actually, he should’ve been there an hour ago, but work was slow nowadays- would be for another week, at least. And he sort of controlled his own hours, anyway). But even so, he needed to get out of there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, uh, I’ll get going-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik grimaced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to leave right now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman stilled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now this was something he wasn’t used to. Nobody had ever asked him to stay, even if it was for a few minutes longer. He was always in a hurry to leave, because it seemed like the man he was with was always in a hurry for him to leave. With right reason, too, Aman was hardly complaining about that. That, he was used to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Being asked to stay, however- this was uncharted territory. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman found himself liking it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… I guess I have some time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watched Kartik’s face adopt a playful, utterly devious smirk, and he knew what question was coming next even before Kartik asked it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mind if I take up some of- </span>
  <em>
    <span>mmf”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman was straddling his lap, and stealing Kartik’s next words right off his tongue before he had the chance to complete his sentence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course he could take up some of Aman’s time, hell he could take up most of it (most, not all, all said and done aman was still a professional and he refused to go into work smelling like whiskey. His hair was tousled beyond all recognition, he was sure of it. And judging by the lack of his clothes in his immediate field of vision, though kartik was occupying most of it, they were wrinkled to a very unprofessional extent).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And besides, why </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> make the most of it? Aman was probably never going to see this man again, as one night stands usually go. He would become yet another memory, yet another experience to recount on lonely nights, when his bedroom found itself much too empty as it so often did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman would never see him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or so he thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to meet again tonight?” Kartik asked suddenly, pushing away for a second and catching Aman very, very off guard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People did not ask him to stay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People</span>
  <em>
    <span> definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> did not ask him to meet up again. His phone number, maybe, on very rare occasions. But not this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a moment to consider it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On one hand, the idea of having this frankly very gorgeous man all to himself for yet another night was enticing beyond all measure. Aman couldn’t deny that the thought had him biting his lip- something he didn’t hold back on doing at that moment. Kartik couldn’t help but stare.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But on the other hand… He couldn’t risk having this become a habit. Aman didn’t want to get close to anyone- a travelling editor couldn’t afford to form relationships. Or friendships, for that matter. He just didn’t get close to people, on principle, leaving them behind was much too hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, I’m free tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Aman decided he owed himself a break.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik smiled. He was never, ever one to risk an attachment to someone either, but this man’s company had just proved far too enjoyable to not engage in once more. And maybe after that. And after that. And once again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe once more, after that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Plus, he really loved the way Aman couldn’t be bothered to get to know more about him, unlike everyone else. The fact that this man was in such a hurry to get the fuck out of there before they began conversing (Kartik did not enjoy that either), but only stayed when there was a promise of no more talking was an added benefit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Also he was downright delectable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Letting go this soon made no sense. He could play a little longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik wouldn’t get attached.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was sure.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik got attached.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not to Aman himself, really, more so what Aman meant to him. It was a nice arrangement, what they had- no questions asked, no strings, just two strangers, acquaintances at most, casually enjoying each others’ company in the best, easiest goddamn way possible. and leaving the next morning. Simply going about their lives like nothing had happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until they met again, a few days later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the best sort of relationship Kartik had ever found himself in. Mostly because it wasn’t one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It became an enjoyable and exciting routine for them both. Something he had never even let himself dream of having before. In the life of a spy, nothing was constant and being able to adapt on the move was what he had been taught. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having anything set to a regular schedule or time meant that it could be exploited. That was rule thirteen of his basic training. He always remembered it after that night he had been accosted on his way back to his room, apparently a nightly walk meant he could be jumped at any point. Kartik had stupidly pointed out that he couldn’t care less if he got ambushed, in fact he hoped that would happen- which was why he was taking those walks at odd hours in the first place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And had earned himself a stinging cheek for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was the time he had been caught taking the shortest route to his training centre. Because his body had dared to be sore after days’ worth of intensive training. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Caught</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a nice way of putting it,</span>
  <em>
    <span> held at knife point by his fellow trainees, each of their faces covered with masks just to scare the living crap out of him, all at his supervisor’s orders</span>
  </em>
  <span> was more accurate</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You took the same route back to your room three days straight. You have no one but yourself to blame.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. Thanks.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He never took the same route back anywhere since. There were always at least five different exit routes on his mind, out of any place he would have to frequent. Even if it simply meant visiting the same place not more than twice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik had learned not to let his guard down. Not to become predictable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The second your moves become obvious, consider yourself dead already.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Kartik had made sure to never make that mistake again. He had his own rules and he had always worshipped them as his life depended upon it. Nothing could make him go against his own principles except - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman Tripathi. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was baffling, and frankly the most terrifying experience Kartik had. How he had let one handsome and admittedly very charming man to undo him like this. With just one night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Granted, he was enjoying himself now, but Kartik had found himself questioning his own decisions every step of the way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet, here they were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was funny, maybe a little pathetic,Kartik mused. One night was all it had taken. One glance at him as he walked in through that door weeks ago had been enough to set Kartik’s blood on fire. The heat had travelled all over his body and it had done so even without any alcohol in his system. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman had been intoxicating enough. Then, he figured he could just spend the night with him to get him out of his system and move on like he always does but he was wrong again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something about that man that had Kartik coming back to him. Like a drug. It kept him thinking about him even on the days he wasn’t around. On the nights where he was, Kartik lost almost all train of thought as he put his entire focus on Aman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It truly left him speechless the few times he had actually stopped to think about how much hold this man had over him. He never pondered on it much, always brushing it aside but in the deepest parts of his heart and the forefront of his mind he knew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
He was betraying himself.</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps there was a little more to it, Kartik thought one night, drink in hand and indecision on his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something that went beyond his very human, very weak need for companionship. That’s what he wanted to believe, anyway. Aman signified rebellion, Aman was a means to break every rule that had been set for him. For starters- he was a man, and Kartik would have called his father to rub this in his face if the thought of hearing that bastard’s voice didn’t make his stomach roll. And then, came the attachment, something he had always been warned about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if Kartik wasn’t attached to</span>
  <em>
    <span> him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> as such, (or so he told himself), there was some attachment there. Some sort of insidious temptation he didn’t really have the urge to shut down. Quite the opposite, in fact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever the reason may be, it went against everything he had been taught.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik loved it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew he was screwed. In more ways than one. He had already broken his main rule of never getting vulnerable- at least, physically- around anyone within an hour of meeting them. Granted, that was a rule he broke the most often, every time temptation overtook his good senses, but still. He felt bad about it. Sort of. A little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had let Aman know him- the very basics, perhaps, there was only so much Aman could do with his name, his age, and the colour of his underwear, and very vague details about his very made up job- but still. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The worst was that he had let himself get attached and now- he had let himself become predictable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because now, weeks into meeting Aman they’d set a routine. Every Wednesday, at almost exactly 11.30pm Aman would walk into the bar. Kartik would wait for him to sit down in his seat (it was Aman’s seat now, in his mind) and serve him the usual. They’d exchange silent glances and never talk while Kartik was on the job, but the moment everyone left, that was when the real game began. The race against their own primal need to get closer and closer in the darkness of Kartik’s bedroom </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as it invariably happened, the next morning Aman would stay for a while. Maybe even for breakfast, sometimes, but eventually he would leave Kartik’s, and they won’t see each other again until next Wednesday. They never spoke about it, even though they’d set it up as a routine. There was no conventional pillow talk, or really anything beyond what Aman would come there for in the first place. Kartik never offered more and Aman had never asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were no expectations.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it suited them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So every week now, instead of dreading every hour of his work, Kartik had come to love it. At least the Wednesday nights. His shift ended earlier on Wednesdays too, which meant that he never had to wait long before he could have Aman all to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he had been the same person he was maybe a decade ago, he would go so far as to call it date night. But he was not that person anymore, that Kartik was long since dead, buried six feet underground. Besides, this was just a temporary job. He would have to up and leave Goa behind eventually.He would leave this life behind and move on to another location, another mission... another cover story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he had let himself have this. For once in his life, he had let his rules and worries go and decided to cherish something good. Something normal and mundane that everyone else had but something he had always denied himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s why he was there, again on a Wednesday night waiting eagerly for Aman to arrive. A familiar face in this near unbearably inconsistent life of his. A sanctuary of a sort. Tonight he was a little bit more eager to see Aman because he had had a hell of a mission the other day. He wasn’t bruised as much as usual but he felt more tired than he had in a few weeks. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Having Aman around, even if only his silent company, would be a balm tonight. He kept that thought in his mind as he continued bartending robotically. Yet his eyes were always on the clock and his ears were always paying attention to the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, as 11.30pm came around, Kartik heard the now too familiar sound of Aman’s footsteps come through the doors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik’s head bobbed up from below the counter where he sat hunched, looking for drinks, and locked on to Aman’s figure. His blood ran cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Aman. His friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>(friend? When had that happened?)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the man whose company he had come to anticipate, even look forward to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it wasn’t… </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For one thing, this man had a nasty bruise covering his cheekbone. It was oddly discoloured, a sight which made Kartik’s stomach twist a little. Granted, he had seen the same and far worse on his other friends </span>
  <em>
    <span>(there it was again, what was he doing?)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that didn’t make it any easier to witness each time he saw it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Plus, this was Aman. Aman was normalcy, Aman was a face without gashes and friendship</span>
  <em>
    <span> (this was so weird)</span>
  </em>
  <span> that didn’t involve worry for his safety. So seeing this… it threw Kartik off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Violently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik uneasily glanced at the black eye Aman was sporting, like he had tripped and fallen on someone’s fist, or something, and-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had someone punched him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of all the answers Kartik had been expecting, the one he got was not one of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart clenched. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In concern, yes, but there was something more to it. Something Kartik didn’t think Aman could- would- ever make him feel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik felt… betrayed.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Cliff, meet hanger :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Songs for this chapter: Zaroorat Hai (Ek Villian)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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